Inspiration. I’ve been waiting around for a knock on my door, always hoping that she will arrive when most needed. She seems to come and go as she pleases, at least that’s the way it feels when I’m out of the practice of practicing in a consistent (daily) way. I get so busy with my doing list and what needs checking off. I forget the being part of myself, where I can simply and quietly be. There’s a wanting, a desire for more spaciousness in my life. Yet I can easily forget to turn off the doing list. Inspiration is always waiting around for me to arrive actually, at the doorstep of my own self. I reach a point when my To-Do List has been checked off and my Just Being hasn’t quite arrived. This is the place where my energy becomes rapid and tight, with a few ounces of wishfulness and hope, and a big dose of desire. There’s an anxiousness that creeps into my being, makes my belly tighten, my breaths become shallow and taut, my shoulders pull up. I’m noticing this place more readily these days. There’s the constant busyness of my mind that sends rapid messages down through my blood stream to my limbs, creating a tense state of over-doing. Here comes my dragon muse lighting a fire in my belly and insisting I sit down and do what I am doing. “10 minutes!” She emphatically chants to me….“No breakfast. 10 minutes. Write. 10 minutes. Sit and write whatever comes. Sentence after sentence…” and she hangs up laughing. As much as I want to keep...